


All My Ghosts at Home

by AwayLaughing



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Reunions, Gen, Gift Exchange, Rebirth, Third Age, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21928492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: Finduilas and Gil-Galad reunite after two deaths and the better part of four thousand years.
Relationships: Ereinion Gil-galad & Finduilas Faelivrin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	All My Ghosts at Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talullah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/gifts).



The carriage rattled only slightly as it made its way down the road to Lorien. Finduilas, uncharacteristically alone, stared out at the landscape, which was both intimately familiar and still, after so many years, utterly foreign to her. No longer did she look out her window at home and expect to see the inner courtyards of Nargothrond, but removed back to a place she had not visited since rebirth, she found herself looking into the forest as if it would coalesce into something familiar. It wasn’t anxiety – no part of her expected to see orcs or werewolves parting the brush. It wasn’t not anxiety though.

It was, like most things in Valinor, a bit of a confused combination. What else did you call a land of immortals, full of the waking dead?

Immediately she chided herself for the maudlin thoughts. Despite the gentle drizzle outside, she was here not on a grey errand, but quite a gay one. What else could a summons to come collect her brother from his convalescence in Mandos and Lorien be but that? Certainly it could not be a cause for worry – that, she thought, smiling wryly at her own reflection in the window, would be silly.

A shimmer caught her attention, and she watched as the maia she remembered as being the driver came into view.

“If you’re in here, who is driving?” Finduilas asked, less worried than that than anything, really.

“It is my pleasure to be present in many places I am needed,” the maia said pleasantly. They were just an amorphous shape, the suggestion of sunlight as Arien slipped beyond the mountains. Their presence was obvious though, and Finduilas found that the Reborn seemed more in tune with the Ainur than those who arrived in ways other than Mandos, though perhaps for those who lived in Valmar it was different. Six hundred years and she’d yet to find the time to go investigate.

Or, being honest, the will.

“A handy skill, I’m sure,” she said, and the maia shifted in such a way she was inclined to consider a nod. Or, equivalent to.

“I wouldn’t know otherwise,” was the response. “You are uneasy.”

Once, Finduilas would have been put off by this – this strange bending of boundaries inherent to the Ainur. Now though she found she did not mind. Tol Eressëa’s only real presence of ainur was lord Ulmo, and elves were far more comfortable with him than any other. Or maybe it was just she was used to it.

“Yes,” she said. “I have not seen my brother in a very long time.” He’d been less than thirty years into the most generous description of adulthood when she died, and had gone on to live ten times the lives she had.

“You will learn one another, as is the wont of living things,” the maia said, tone definitely gentle. “Are you, a Noldo, scared to learn?”

“Even Noldor as scared to learn some things,” Finduilas said, smiling despite herself. “We are not quite as fearless as reputation may speak.”

“The fearless are never brave,” the maia said. And with that, they were gone.

Finduilas blinked at the empty space, before turning back to the window. She wondered briefly if that was what the maiar considered a pep talk – and then wondered that it seemed to have worked on some level. At least, her bemusement had muscled out a large chunk of her worry.

Around them, the forest had changed slightly. She could see a more ordered sort of wildness was around them now, and she knew instinctively that soon they would turn a corner and the Gardens of Lorien would be before her.

And with them, her brother.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it was a joke by the Ainur for whom thought so often created form, but not a moment later they did just that, and she was shocked to see a figure in the rain.

He was tall and lean, and someone had gifted him clothing other than the plain white she remembered from her time spent re-adjusting in the Gardens. His face had sharper angles than came to mind when she recalled her brother, and his hair was longer, curling around his elbows. It was certainly her brother though. He had the same narrow, proud nose. He had their father’s and grandfather’s and, as it turned out, grandmother’s sea-green eyes and that brown-blond shade that was all his own, and his mouth still naturally fell into a slightly lopsided smirk when he wasn’t schooling his expression. Which he was not doing now.

Coming to a slow, Finduilas did not wait for the carriage to fully stop before opening the door. He was quite soggy despite the tell-tale shimmer of the air directly to his left.

“I could swear there was a nice covered pavilion just beyond that gate,” she said, nodding to the deceptively simple gate that was the entrance to the Garden. She had never seen it closed, and it still wasn’t. Gil-Galad grinned at her – the left side twitching up just slightly higher than the right.

“I wanted out,” he said, “and I wanted to feel the rain and smell the dirt and see the trees.”

“There are dirt and trees inside the Garden,” the shimmer coalesced into a figure that looked very much like an eldar, and sent Gil-Galad an exasperated look before turning to her, eyes baleful. “He wouldn’t even let me keep him dry.”

“Well, he always was pigheaded, once he decided to be,” Finduilas said. Gil-Galad grinned a little more, which evened the expression out. Mostly. “He’ll let you dry him off though, unless he plans to walk to civilization.”

“Better than always being such, sister-mine,” he said. “And it’s tempting, but it’s been made very clear to me I’m not to wander about without a chaperone. And I expect Lord Irmo will be annoyed if he has to set a maia after me.”

The maia attendant eyed Gil-Galad, as if he suspected Gil-Galad was going to try anyway. “I will dry you and the carriage once you are inside,” he said. “Otherwise you will simply get wet again.”

It sounded to him like thought the eldar, or perhaps Gil-Galad in particular, had a particular habit of getting wet at inopportune times, and that he felt they should be able to avoid getting soggy even when it was raising. But then, she supposed Gil-Galad always had liked bath time, even as a babe in arms, and so maybe he _did_.

“Peace, can a man not simply enjoy a forgotten feeling?” he asked and, as easily as you pleased, pulled himself into the shelter, jumping slightly, presumably just to show off. He did spray Finduilas a bit in doing so, but she was hard pressed to be annoyed following his remainder that he was very newly not dead.

Dead. He shining brother.

“Such a scary face Finduilas,” he said, settling down across from the seat she’d been in earlier. “I’m in now, and willing to be dry.”

The maia muttered something in Valarian – which despite great aunt Findis’ best attempts, Finduilas had no ability to understand even when it was spoken in tones audible to elven ears. Then there was a warm breeze – and indeed, her soggy brother was dry, if a bit ruffled.

“Many thanks,” she said. The maia nodded, eyes focused on Gil-Galad.

“If you have need, remember there is no shame in returning,” he said, tone gentle. Gil-Galad’s sunny smile was nearly believable.

“Never fear, I am utterly shameless. I wish you all the best with your next charges.”

“As I wish you all the best,” the maia said, before closing the door. A moment later the carriage lurched into movement.

“So, where am I to be kept out of trouble then?” he asked.

“I have a set of rooms in Avallónë,” she said, “or rather just outside it. There’s plenty of room for a second person. Some of our kin, in Alqualondë, would also no doubt like to see you, though I told no one of my summons. And of course, there’s Tirion if you like.”

“I suppose many reborn can get overwhelmed, mobbed by family thought forever sundered,” he said. “I should like to see Alqualondë sooner than later, and meet our forefathers and foremothers, but or now, I think I yearn most to see Avallónë. I imagine many faces I am excited to see again are there.”

“Yes, the Isle is far more Exilic and Sindar these days than Teleri, though there’s a group of reborn Nandor and Silvans who’ve moved nearly right into the city centre. It has ever been a green city, but these days you’re hard pressed to spot a building. It’s quite beautiful.”

Gil-Galad laughed. “Truly? Are there no woods in Tol Eressëa for them to enjoy?”

“There is plenty, and I assume they have kin in the deep woods where I never trek,” she said. “From my understanding they simply found great joy in reuniting with their Teleri kin, and so wish to stay close to them.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” he said. “Well, now you have me all the more excited to see this place, where Nandor live in cities.” He settled back, and Finduilas could not think of anything to say in response. A silence, one neither would have tolerated in their first life together, settled over them.

After a moment, Finduilas turned to watch the tiny slice of fast moving Valinor once again.

* * *

They stopped just outside Tirion, at a little waystation and guest house used for travellers. Her kin who had never left told her they’d become very common in the early Second age, with the influx of Exiles, Reborn and War of Wrath Veterans who insisted on visiting all and sundry. Some of them sounded rather disapproving of that, as if the three Kindred ought to stay in their individual cities and mingle only in extraordinary circumstances – but Finduilas was relieved not to have to make their way into Tirion proper because Gil-Galad, by the time they arrived, was already fast asleep on his feet. Steering him through the white streets of Tirion in search of a place to stay did not appeal.

Equally as unappealing, but unavoidable, had been waking him up in the morning. He grumbled as if he were a recalcitrant elfling all the while – to the ducked heads and grins of the inn owner and stable hand. Indeed, he slept for a few hours more in the carriage.

But he was wide awake now.

“Welcome to Hostêw,” she said as she ushered him off the ferry.

“It looks like Sirion,” he said, looking around at the docks and the buildings. “Well, a nicer Sirion.”

“It’s a Sindarin city, some Exiles,” she said. “Are you alright to ride?”

“What is that language?” he asked, ignoring her entirely. Finduilas looked over to the city’s namesake – the multilingual signage at the docks.

“I don’t know,” she said, taking off towards to the stables, “probably Avari of some sort, there’s a Hwenti merchant who comes to the market in Avallónë once a month.”

Gil-Galad caught up with her easily – she realized with a jolt she half expected him to still be a not-quite grown 30 year old, which he had not been for many years even before her death. “Amazing,” he said. “And yes, I think I can ride. We’ll find out I suppose.”

“I’m sure we could find a carriage,” she said. “Especially for a returned king.”

“Ha,” he said, flashing her a grin, “I am not a king any longer, and thus it’s horses for us. The upside is I don’t have to listen to anyone I don’t wish to anymore.” Despite his happy expression, something lurked in his voice. A wistfulness maybe – and Finduilas asked how could it not? How truly could one ask him to happily set aside his duties; her brother, the longest reigning King of the Noldor in Exile.

“Well,” she said, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. “You’re going to listen to _me_ , at least for a little while yet.”

“Somethings never change, it seems,” he said, and she laughed despite herself.

* * *

They did though – that was things did change and after three weeks she was forced to admit her little brother was one of them. The Gil-Galad in her memory was not the one living in her apartment.

This person who walked carefully around her third floor rooms, who could hold still for more than five minutes at a time was alien to her. And now he was sneaking out at all hours of the day. At first, not wanting to seem overbearing when he was a very fully grown elf, she’d let him. But the secrecy was eating away at her, which was how she found herself stalking her brother down a sunny lane in the middle of the morning.

It was not the most noble of things for a daughter of the house of Arafinwë to being doing, she knew, but she couldn’t see another option. Well, she could have just asked him but she’d been terrified at the idea he might lie to her. The Gil-Galad enshrined in her memory had been a terrible liar. She was loathe to learn this too had changed.

Up a path, past the settlements she followed him. They never strayed from the cliffs overlooking the sea, not until the last few feet, where it turned, up into the trees. Finduilas, worried about losing him on a deer path hurried, and then nearly threw herself into the brush when she was met with not just her brother, but three others.

Heart beating, she settled into the bushes, aware she was being ridiculous but unable to convince herself to act otherwise. Once she saw neither Gil-Galad nor the others had noticed her, she settled enough to study them. Aside from Gil-Galad, they numbered two men and a woman. Of the three, two were clearly related – the russet brown haired man and the woman. They shared the same careless waves, and had the lanky build and autumnal colouring she associated with the Sindar. The man was also incredibly tall, taller even than the third man. She doubted they were related though, with his jet black hair and a proud, slightly curved nose. She may have marked him for a Teleri were it not for the spear in his hand. Indeed, all of the four were armed, the black haired man having handed her brother a spear. The other two had bows in hand, and quivers at their feet.

It had been some time since Finduilas had seen actual weapons. While some of the Returned had forsworn all weapons, just as many refused to let their skills rust. Finduilas had learned how to use them of course, they were at war with one of the Valar, it was foolheaded _not_ to know how to fight, but she had never been the best student. More interested in reading, and maths and building and affairs of state it just had not been anything more than an ugly necessity to her.

Not so for Gil-Galad it seemed. She watched the quartet split off, the Sindar disappearing further into the woods, Gil-Galad and his partner stretching. It seemed to her this took forever. All the same, before she knew it, they were standing across one another, spears readied.

Finduilas had never had any interest in the spear in her first life, though many of the people of Nargothrond with more Vanyar-influenced backgrounds had used them. Once reborn, she was more than happy to let any thought of weapons out of her mind. If she spared any thought for spears, it had only been when people sung of her brother.

She could see why they did. The two spear fighters danced for what seemed like hours, but could not have been. Sometimes they were together, sometimes they separated and did drills. Though she was not at all an expert in anything about spears she thought they must be impressive. All the same, she wondered.

The Gil-Galad she remembered had not been a spear fighter. He’d favoured the sword. Why had he changed? Boredom? She couldn’t imagine, but then he’d lived for centuries longer than her. Had it been more practical? It was not the first time she wondered this, in truth, but it was the first time she acknowledged her unease. She had been happy to leave weapons in distant memory. Most especially spears. To hear of them sung along with her brother’s name had once been jarring. To see him wield it now was...

She did not know.

What she did know was that by the time the Sindar returned she was quite ready to leave. The sun had moved enough that she was no longer in the shade, meaning she was hot, and staying so long in one position was not comfortable. And, impressive or not, the display was getting a bit dull.

She was wondering if she could wriggle back enough to evade notice when a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she found it was the dark haired spear-fighter.

“Hello,” he said cheerfully. “We’re breaking for lunch, and in deference to Arien’s smothering heat. Do you care to join us?” He offered her a hand as he spoke.

Feeling incredibly ridiculous, Finduilas took it so as not to seem a _churlish_ spy, doing her best to dust her skirts. “Why thank you,” she said with all the pride she could muster. “That would be most agreeable.”

The elf, who had quite fetching dark blue eyes, smiled easily. “I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Ecthelion, late of Gondolin, at your service.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes widening. Everyone, even the Amanyar who’d never left, knew of the lords Ecthelion and Glorfindel. The first Balrog slayers – dearly beloved of their people. Looking over to the two archers, she surmised they were not blond enough to have earned the epitaph “The Blond Haired One”. “I am terribly sorry lord Ecthelion, I only intended to spy on my brother.”

“No need to stand on ceremony, your highness,” he said. “And if I may offer some advice? Perhaps a less colourful skirt, next time?”

“Ah very sound,” Finduilas said, looking down at her pale blue skirt, embroidered with pink and white flowers. “It was a bit of an impulsive decision.”

Ecthelion smiled at her. “I’ve never minded an audience, or if I did I can’t remember it. My traditional partner was never what we would call unpopular or subtle.”

Finduilas laughed despite her nerves, joining her brother who was talking with the woman.

“Decided to join us then?” he asked, turning slightly to her, a slightly uneasy smile on his face. She smiled back, a touch guilty. “Everyone, this is my sister, Finduilas. Sister, this is Penlod, formerly of Gondolin, and Bamveniel, also formerly of Gondolin and his mother.”

“My lord, my lady,” she said, curtsying. “I am sorry for overstepping and encroaching on your practice, but I am insatiably curious, to the point of nosy when it concerns my brother.”

Bamveniel laughed. “I understand, I too stalked my little boy all over the place when he was first Reborn,” she said. “Are you joining us for lunch, or heading back?”

Finduilas look to Gil-Galad, he looked back, his eyes, like the shoals around Alqualondë clear and unwaivering. “Am I invited, your highness?” she asked, and was relieved when he laughed.

“I told you – I’m not a king any longer!” he said, and tugged her to wear Ecthelion was laying out a repast on a piece of cloth retrieved from somewhere she hadn’t noticed. Very quickly after she was lead over, she was handed a cloth with cheese, cured meats and a few fresh berries. She settled in next to her brother, and listened as Penlod launched into a story of the first time he met a Nandor in this area. She found herself staring at Gil-Galad however, tuning out the chatter.

“Finduilas?”

The question was implicit in his tone, and she meant to answer, she did. Instead what came out was: “why a spear?”

Gil-Galad was very quiet for a very long moment. Then, voice low he said, “I remember when they found you. I wasn’t there, but the report that you’d been pinned to the tree,” his hand clenched. “I suppose people think it should make me want to avoid them but...” he licked his lips. “It became my own little vengeance. Taking back that which hurt the last of my family, and hurting them instead.” Finally he looked up, flashing a little lopsided grin, “and then it just turned out to be very practical.”

A million words danced across her tongue, clogging her throat. Any and every response to the statement all trying to be the thing she said. When she finally spoke, however, it was a question. “Teach me?”

Gil-Galad’s eyes finally met her, sea-green eyes wide. “What?”

“The spear. Teach me,” she said.

He stared for a long moment, and then his surprise melted into a wolf’s grin. It was not the Gil-Galad she knew; but it was she realized suddenly the Gil-Galad in front of her, unequivocally. 

“Alright,” he said. “I can do that."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I was terribly nervous with this as you write a lot of very wonderful Finduilas of your own, but I really wanted to give this a go all the same. You asked for no fluff, and I tried to inject enough weight in the narrative to avoid ending up there. I hope you have a wonderful holiday (and forgive me sneaking in a thousand little head canons - and the Gondolin characters).


End file.
